Dark Angel
by Sue Pokorny
Summary: An enchanting black statue stands sentinel at the gates of a cemetery in Council Bluffs, Iowa. Is its beauty a comfort to the grieving, or could there be something more sinister behind the angelic wings? NOT a crossover - no transgenics involved!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Don't own 'em. Probably wouldn't tell ya if I did.

**Synopsis: **An enchanting black statue stands sentinel at the gates of a cemetery in Council Bluffs, Iowa. Is its beauty a comfort to the grieving, or could there be something more sinister behind the angelic wings?

Have you ever heard someone say 'the story wrote itself?' I have and never really figured out how that would work… but now I know. This one actually did. Just flowed from start to finish. As you may be able to tell, I'm pretty stoked about it, so I hope ya'll like it as much as I did.

And just to reiterate, no X5's, transgenics or Manticore personnel will remotely appear in this fic. It is NOT a crossover, I just couldn't resist the name!!

……………………………

**Dark Angel**

**Chapter 1**

**Fairview Cemetery, Council Bluffs, IA**

**August 2004**

Theresa wiped the tear from her cheek and placed the bouquet of flowers on the grave. Sitting back on her heels she took a long look at the headstone.

_Margaret Simmons_

_Beloved Wife and Mother_

She missed her mom. Even though it had been almost a year since her mother had died from liver cancer, Theresa still found herself thinking about her almost every day.

They had been close.

After Dad had died, they had leaned on each other, been each other's foundation. Theresa had only been sixteen, but she had tried to help her mom through the pain of losing the only man she had ever loved, and, in turn, her mother had tried to be strong for her. Neither of them had been able to ignore the heartbreak that went with losing a family member, but they had bonded together, more than they ever had before, and somehow had managed to build a new life.

When Theresa had gone to college, she had chosen one that was close enough so that she could come home on weekends. Mom had insisted that she go out with her friends, that she meet new people and do whatever college kids were supposed to do, but Theresa wasn't interested in all that. She had wanted to get her degree and make her parents proud. They had given her so much through her life – had always been there for her no matter what – and she wanted to be able to return the favor.

When Mom had been diagnosed, it was like being hit by a shovel. Theresa hadn't been able to even breathe, but Mom had taken it all in stride. She had forced Theresa to accept the inevitable and deal with what would lie ahead. Everything has a silver lining, Mom had insisted. Everything happens for a reason.

Mom had been so excited when, while accompanying her to one of her chemo appointments, Theresa had met Brian. They had hit it off immediately and, after a whirlwind romance, had married. Mom had been able to attend, and had looked so beautiful.

Theresa smiled at the memory, knowing that her mother had died knowing her daughter was happy. Brian was a wonderful man, and the fact that they would soon be beginning their own family had brought Theresa to the cemetery to share the good news.

Pushing herself to her feet, she blew a final kiss toward the headstone. "I'll be back soon, Mom," she whispered.

Making her way back across the cemetery, Theresa paused at the front gate, searching through her purse for a Kleenex to blow her running nose. The wind blew through her dark hair as she positioned herself on the stone bench near the fountain that sat just outside the cemetery gates.

Theresa loved the fountain. The curved stone bench jutted from both sides of the main statue, forming a half circle around the pool. The majestic angel towered above the pool, it's head facing the bluffs, it's wings folded in repose. The angel had taken on a beautiful dark patina over the years, the color replacing the original brass, making it appear part of the earth itself. In its arms, the angel held a chalice that dispelled the water into the stone pool below, the soft gurgle of the water soothing the souls of those who sat beneath her.

Theresa wiped her eyes, smiling as the angel brought her the comfort she sought. She felt something hit the top of her head and raised her hand, finding her hair damp. Frowning, she turned her face upward toward the angel. A drop fell upon her cheek as she glanced up at the familiar statue and her breath caught in her throat.

The angel… it was crying.

………………..

**Schyler, Nebraska**

**Present Day**

Sam growled under his breath and tossed his phone onto the diners formica table top with a little more force than intended. He winced as the device bounced along the surface, coming to a rest with a clatter against the condiment rack at the end of the booth. He reached for the phone, hoping he hadn't actually damaged the damn thing, when a familiar voice caused him to jump.

"What's the matter, Sammy? 1-900-GET-PORN refuse your credit card again?"

Sam glared as Dean dropped into the opposite bench seat, shit-eating grin firmly in place.

"No." Sam racked his brain for a witty reply, but found his brother's sudden appearance had rendered his ability to come up with anything clever worthless. Trying to come up with some kind of lie that would placate Dean's suspicions as to who Sam had been trying to call was becoming a full time job as of late. He knew his brother wasn't stupid. Dean was perfectly aware of who Sam had tried to contact every time the older man was out of earshot.

Dean didn't want Sam contacting Ruby. He had made that very clear. But Sam wasn't about to give up on the one lead he had that could possibly get Dean out of his deal. He didn't care if Dean wanted him to or not. He wasn't just going to sit back and wait for his brother to go to hell.

Not if he could help it.

He averted his eyes from his brother's steady gaze and focused on the phone, making a show of inspecting it for damage. Maybe, for once, Dean would just leave it alone.

The older hunter sighed and shook his head as his brother's lips set in a grim line of determination. Dean had slowly started to give up trying to get through to Sam the numerous reasons the younger man needed to stop believing that that damn Ruby chick was going to swoop in and save the day.

She was a demon.

Demons lie.

End of story.

Dean wasn't sure what her angle was, but he had no doubt that saving him from hell wasn't exactly high on her hit parade. He hated that she continued to dangle that little gem in front of Sam's face. Sam was getting desperate as the months ticked by, and even though Dean had initially harbored a small hope that his brother would indeed find some kind of loophole that would keep him from the fires of hell, he had finally accepted that it just wasn't going to happen.

To say he was okay with that would be a lie.

But that was the hand he'd been dealt, and he had to stay in control for Sam. He couldn't let his brother see him break. Dean had come to the sad realization that nothing anyone – especially Dean himself – could do would make Sam give up on his quest.

Bobby had come up blank, and despite exhaustive research, Sam himself had found nothing. Ruby seemed to be the only one who held any answers, and Sam had latched on like a buoy in a stormy sea. Dean had no idea what tricks the demon had hidden up her sleeve, but he didn't for a second believe it would save him. He just wished he could get Sam to see that, too.

Fortunately, there was still one sure way to distract Sam from his fruitless search for answers as well as keep his own mind from wandering too close to his fast approaching destiny.

"Well, if you're done torturing small electronic devices, I think I may have found us a case." Dean tossed the folded newspaper he was holding onto the table, sliding it across to his brother.

Sam picked up the paper and read the masthead. "The Omaha World Herald."

Grabbing the newspaper, Dean turned it to the back and pointed toward a story on the lower right hand side of the page. "Read."

Sam frowned at the order but complied. "So some guy jumped from the bluffs outside a cemetery." He shrugged as he looked up at his brother. "Dean, people have been known to get depressed or suicidal when a loved one dies. This guy killing himself outside a cemetery could be nothing more than an over emotional man who just lost someone important to him."

"Uh uh," Dean leaned forward, his arms folded across the formica. "According to his wife, this guy was at the cemetery to pay his respects to an old high school friend who apparently died over ten years ago. He wasn't depressed. From all reports, he was a happy, content man."

Sam pursed his lips and nodded slowly, his eyes scanning the rest of the article. "Okay, so you think something else may have persuaded him to jump? Our kind of something?"

Dean nodded and Sam dropped the paper onto the table. "It's a cemetery, dude. It could be any one of hundreds of spirits. You want to dig up the entire graveyard?"

Dean shrugged. "Look, it's just across the river in Council Bluffs, Iowa, about two hours from here. I say we swing by and check the place out. See if there's anything hinky about that cemetery."

"Hinky?" Sam's lips curled into a grin.

Dean returned his brother's grin, relieved to finally see the younger man's mood lighten. "Yeah, Shaggy. Hinky." He nodded to the half empty coffee cup in front of Sam. "Drink up, dude. We got us a mystery to solve."

…………………………….

**Fairview Cemetery, Council Bluffs, IA**

Dean pulled the black Chevy to a stop outside the cemetery gates and killed the engine. He leaned forward to get a look at the expansive grounds outside the passenger side window. The cemetery itself was situated on a long rolling incline that stretched across the hill parallel to the winding road. The grounds were surrounded by a tall wrought iron fence that disappeared behind well maintained trees and foliage as the cemetery stretched upward toward the edge of the bluff.

The wide, main gate was standing open, the circular entrance paved with cobblestones. In the center of the cobblestones, just in front of the gate was a fountain, anchored by a dark angel standing at least ten feet tall. The angel carried a chalice from which water fell, creating a calm, relaxing refuge for the bereaved.

Sam opened the door, and stepped out onto the cement walkway next to the parking area. The walkway lead directly to the cobblestone terrace before continuing around it and through the cemetery gates. As he approached the fountain, he noticed an inscription at the base of the angel and leaned down to get a better angle at the etched script.

THIS MEMORIAL SCULPTURE, DEDICATED IN 1920, REPRESENTS A DREAM EXPERIENCED BY RUTH ANNE DODGE. THE ANGEL ON THE PROW OF A BOAT EXTENDS HER HAND AND OFFERS THE WATER OF LIFE. THE ARTIST WAS THE AMERICAN SCULPTOR DANIEL CHESTER FRENCH (1850-1931)

Sam felt a drop of water hit his hand as he stood and absently wiped it on his jeans as he turned, his eyes searching for his brother.

………………….

Dean watched as Sam wandered toward the cemetery gates, stopping to inspect the towering black sculpture just outside the entrance. The wind blew a steady stream of crisp air from the top of the hill and Dean thrust his hands into his pockets and leaned into it as he made his way toward the bluff.

There was a low metal guard rail running the length of the bluff from the edge of the cemetery to the beginning of the dense tree line about one hundred yards to the left, an obvious warning and deterrent for anyone who tried to get too close to the edge of the cliff. The rail was waist high on Dean and he easily jumped it, his feet coming to a rest on the soft ground near the edge of the bluff.

A dizzying look down at the Missouri River had Dean reaching back for a hold on the guardrail. The river flowed below, whitecaps marring the reflective blue of the sky as the water cascaded over large rocks that had obviously fallen from the side of the jutting cliffs. Dragging his eyes from the intimidating distance of the river below, Dean took in the scenic beauty the view offered. The sun reflected off the water, its light dancing as the river ambled down its banks. The cliffs on either side soared, topped with clusters of trees, roots dangling from eroded areas of the cliffs, as if reaching for the water that sang from below.

"Dean!"

Sam's voice startled him from his observations and he jumped a bit as the soft ground gave a little and clattered over the edge of the cliff, falling soundlessly to the depths below. Letting out a small breath of relief that he had a firm grasp on the guard rail, he pulled himself back over and jogged down to where Sam stood near the fountain.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you not to yell at the guy standing on the edge of the cliff, Sammy?"

Sam smirked and shrugged. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to stand on the edge of a cliff, Dean?"

"Thank you, Mr. Obvious. You find anything?"

Sam pointed to the plaque on the fountain. "Just that."

Dean quickly read the inscription, his lips pursed into a frown. "So, you think this Dodge chick has something to do with our jumper?"

Sam shrugged again and thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "I don't know, maybe. I do remember the name of the sculptor – Daniel Chester French. He's the same guy who did that huge statue at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "You mean the one of Lincoln sitting in that big chair?" At Sam's nod of acknowledgement, he bobbed his head appreciatively. "That's cool. Of course the fact that you actually know that worries me to no end."

Sam huffed a breath of air through his nose and shot his brother a look of annoyance. "At least I can prove a degree of intelligence." Satisfied with Dean's look of confused indignation, he continued. "It says the statue was commissioned to represent a dream Mrs. Dodge had of an angel on a boat offering the 'water of life'. Ring any bells?'

It was Dean's turn to shrug. "Could be a lot of things… siren, water witch, spirit… or it could just be the senile imagination of a lonely old lady."

Turning back toward the Impala, Dean led the way across the walkway, slowing as he rounded the front end of the car. "I'll drop you at the motel. I'm going to go see if I can talk to our jumper's wife."

"Alone?"

Dean opened the door and grinned across the shiny black roof. "I don't think it takes two of us to do a background check on the victim, Sam. Besides, you just proved that you're the official research geek of this outfit. Hope your fingers are all loosened up, dude, 'cause it looks like you're spending the afternoon getting the low down on Old Lady Dodge's Roma Downey fixation."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Settle Inn Motel, Council Bluffs, IA**

Sam squinted as his tired eyes scanned another web page. He had been able to find quite a bit of information during his search. He glanced back at the digital clock on the nightstand between the beds, surprised to see that it was nearly 5:00.

After leaving the cemetery, Dean had driven to the motel, stopping long enough to change into his 'fed suit' before heading back out to talk to the latest victim's wife. In his brother's absence, Sam had been able to learn about Ruth Anne Dodge and her connection to the city of Council Bluffs. He had also found more information about the supposed dreams the woman had had about the angel as reported by Dodge's two daughters.

He looked up quickly as the door to the motel room opened, leaning back in the chair and stretching his tight back muscles as Dean stepped across the threshold. The older man smiled as he quickly located his brother in the small room, holding up a Taco Bell bag with a grin.

"I got us tacos, dude."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yay," he deadpanned. He pushed the laptop to the back of the table as Dean tossed the bag in front of him. Sam reached in and retrieved the greasy contents as his brother shimmied out of his dark suit coat, pulling his dress shirt from the waist of his slacks before he plopped down into the chair on the opposite side of the table.

"So, how was your day, dear?" Dean asked as he unwrapped a soft shell taco. "I had a lovely day at the office."

Sam snorted a laugh and unwrapped his own taco. "I learned a lot about Ruth Dodge," he said. "But I'm not sure she has anything to do with these suicides."

"They aren't suicides," Dean argued around a substantial bite of food.

"And you know this… how?"

Dean swallowed and wiped at the taco sauce at the corner of his mouth. "According to Kevin Daugherty's wife Katherine, who, by the way is an accountant who owns her own firm, there is no way in hell Kevin jumped from that cliff of his own free will." He leaned back against the chair, one arm dropping into his lap. "Mr. Daugherty was visiting the grave of an old high school friend that he visited annually for the last fifteen years. He was not in any way, shape or form depressed, emotional or bereaved. As a matter of fact, the happy couple had just sent their youngest daughter off to college and were finally going to take a vacation to Ireland they had been planning for five years." Dean shrugged, his head tilted in question. "Now that doesn't sound like a guy planning to take a swan dive from a cliff to me."

Sam sighed, nodding his head slowly in agreement. "Okay. I agree that isn't exactly suicidal behavior." He finished the rest of his taco in one bite and turned the laptop toward his brother. "According to the records, there have been at least twenty 'suicides' from those cliffs in the last fifty years – and those are just the ones I could find. A few of them have been attributed to depression, lost loved ones, that kind of stuff, but the majority of them are like our Mr. Daugherty. Perfectly normal, well adjusted people who showed no signs of wanting to end their lives."

Sam wiped his hands on a napkin and reached across the table. With a few clicks he brought up a web page that had been minimized at the bottom of the screen.

"For example," he nodded toward the newspaper report that appeared on the screen. "Theresa Morgan. Twenty-eight years old. Her death was attributed to her being despondent over the death of her mother over a year before she supposedly jumped. But, according to her husband, Brian, Theresa had just found out she was pregnant and was ecstatic about the news."

He grabbed another taco from the bag and dropped it onto the table in front of his brother. "There are more like that. Each victim having at least one relative or friend who swears they were in no way suicidal."

"Of course the local police did their usual slip-shod job, ignored the pattern and slapped a solved sticker on the files. Case closed, huh?"

Sam frowned but didn't contradict his brother's assessment. "The cops don't know what we know, Dean. They're looking for reasonable explanations."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean waved a hand, not wanting to get into an argument about the crack investigative abilities of local law enforcement. "What did you find out about the Dodge chick?"

Sam sat back and rubbed his eyes. "Ruth Anne Dodge was the wife of General Grenville M. Dodge who was a Civil War veteran and the chief engineer of the transcontinental railroad."

"So pretty important people."

Sam nodded. "Around here they were royalty." He clicked the keyboard again and brought up another site. "According to legend, the Fairview cemetery is an old Native American burial ground that was taken over by the Mormons for a while. The angel was commissioned by Ruth's two daughters and designed specifically to emulate their mother's 'vision'."

The last word made Dean sit up and lean forward in interest. "Vision?"

"That's what the legend says." Sam continued. "According to the daughters, Ruth had three visions of…" he held up a finger while he scrolled down the page, finally coming to a spot in the text and reading it out loud. "…out of the mist, she saw an ancient boat appear that was covered with roses and rare fragrant flowers. As it approached, she saw that a beautiful young woman was standing in the bow of the ship clad in a glistening white garment…" Sam looked up to see a slight smirk on his brother's face. "The description goes on," he said quickly, ignoring Dean's amusement. "But here's the good part. According to the story, Ruth's 'angel' was holding a chalice filled with the 'water of life' which she encouraged Ruth to drink. The third time she did, and then she died."

He leaned back in the chair again and looked at Dean, his eyebrows lost under his shaggy bangs. "Sounds supernatural to me."

Dean nodded. "But you don't think Ruth Dodge is connected to these suicides?"

Sam shook his head. "I doubt it. The woman died in New York and her body was transported back here by her daughters. She's not even buried in that cemetery. She's buried in a stone mausoleum across town."

Dean crumpled the taco wrapper and tossed it toward the wastepaper basket near the door. "Okay, you said the cemetery is pretty old, right?"

Sam leaned back and picked up his brother's wadded wrapper from the floor and tossed it into the basket. "Yeah. It's actually known as the 'old burying grounds' around here. It's one of the oldest cemeteries in the region."

Dean crumpled up another wrapper and took aim again, watching as the small wad banked off the wall and landed in the basket. He looked at his brother with a satisfied grin. "It still could have something to do with those visions, though."

"Like maybe Ruth saw something that was already there?"

"Yeah, I'm still thinking some kind of siren… calls the victim to the cliff and entices them to jump. We just have to figure out how it's choosing its victims. I'll check through Dad's journal, see if he ever came across anything like this." Dean looked back at his brother, noting the dark circles under the younger man's bloodshot eyes. "You look beat, dude. Way too much screen time for you. Why don't you try to get some shut-eye. We can go back and check out the cemetery with the EMF later tonight."

Sam began to object, but a wide yawn interrupted the protest. He rolled his neck, feeling the tension from having been hunched over the computer for hours take its toll. "Yeah, maybe I'll catch a few hours." He pushed himself out of the chair, shuffling two steps before collapsing onto the bed. "Wake me if you find anything interesting."

Dean smiled fondly and leaned forward to toss the edge of the comforter across his brother's prone form. "You got it, Sleeping Beauty."

……………..

_Sam looked down, watching as the waves crashed against the rocks. He could hear the hiss of the water as its spray danced in the mist, the scent of the water permeating the night air. The wind whipped his hair about his head as the water sparkled like diamonds in the bright moonlight._

_On the shore below, a small boat ebbed its way toward land. As it drew closer, Sam could make out the beautiful figure standing at its bow. She was draped in long flowing robes of the purest white, falling from her form like curtains of spun silk. Her golden hair hung to her shoulders in soft ringlets, tossed about her head by the crisp breeze. Her head tilted up and her gaze found his, her eyes shifting from a deep blue to a warm emerald green as the moonlight played against them._

_She stretched a graceful arm out toward him, her fingers slowly curling, inviting him to come closer. Her other arm was wrapped around a golden chalice, filled to the brim with glistening liquid. The liquid seemed to glow in the moonlight and Sam licked his lips, suddenly aware of an inescapable thirst that seemed to engulf his entire body. Without sound, she called to him, beckoning him toward her, a smile of promise on her ruby lips… _

"Sammy, come on, dude. Time to wakey wakey, princess."

Sam gasped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He reached out with unexpected speed, his own hand clamping down on a wrist and squeezing hard.

"Whoa," Dean's voice was level, but held a touch of surprise. "Relax, man. It's me."

Sam opened his eyes to find his brother half leaning, half sitting awkwardly on the side of the bed. Dean's eyes were wide and he looked from Sam's face to his captured wrist and back with dramatic flair. Sam's eyes followed his brother's and immediately released the wrist, allowing the older man to fall back onto the opposite bed.

Dean absently rubbed his wrist with his other hand, his eyes squinting in concern as he appraised his brother. Sam was pale and breathing too heavy for a man who had only moments ago been sound asleep. There was a light sheen of perspiration on his skin and his eyes held a look of confusion.

"Sam?" Dean watched as his brother blinked a few times, the confused deer-in-the-headlight look fading as he became aware of his surroundings. "Dude, you okay?"

"Uh, yeah." Sam cleared his throat and let his head fall back against the pillow. "I was just having this weird dream…"

When the younger man didn't continue, Dean pursed his lips and tilted his head in question. "Any dancing, bikini clad women or hot tubs involved?" Sam was normally reluctant to discuss his dreams, and Dean had learned a long time ago that the younger man would not be pushed into revealing whatever it was that had spooked him before he was ready.

It was kind of a family trait.

Sam gave a snort of laughter and seemed to relax. "Nope. Not an umbrella drink in sight."

Dean shrugged. "You really need to have better dreams, dude."

Sam nodded in agreement. He pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed and ran a hand across his face. "You find anything in Dad's journal?"

Knowing his brother was playing a game of escape and evade about his dream, Dean decided to humor him and pushed himself up from the bed, crossing to the table where he'd left the journal. "There was nothing I could find that fit the specifics, but from what I could find, I'm pretty sure we're dealing with a water witch." He turned back to Sam, glad to see the younger man had shaken off his earlier stupor and was now completely focused on the information being presented.

"A water witch is a type of siren, but it doesn't use the typical siren song to draw its victims out to sea."

"Then what does it use?"

Dean shrugged. "Dad wasn't really sure. Apparently it can sort of 'infect' someone, which always involves water somehow. Once the victim is infected, the witch can call to them and they can't resist."

Sam's brow furrowed as he remembered their first trip to the cemetery. "The fountain?" he questioned.

"That would make sense," Dean agreed with a slow nod. "People visiting the cemetery, somehow touch the water from the fountain. Sure would explain why some of these well adjusted people would suddenly commit suicide."

Sam pushed himself up and shuffled toward the bathroom. "So, we need to go back and check out the fountain." He turned at the door and grinned at his brother. "Just try and stay away from that cliff this time, dude. I don't want to have to start putting a leash on you."

Dean laughed at the thought. "Kinky, Sammy. You _really_ need to have better dreams."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Fairview Cemetery**

Cemeteries were creepy places at night.

Although Dean had spent a large percentage of his childhood roaming graveyards, looking for headstones, standing watch while his brother and father dug up corpses of angry spirits, or, more often than not, doing the actual digging himself, he never really got used to the oppressive silence that accompanied the darkness. Being a hunter, one would think the darkness would become a familiar place of comfort. But as far as Dean was concerned, it was just dark.

Like an accountant was forced into accepting the three walls of his cubicle, a hunter had no choice but to get used to the darkness. And he had. It's just that cemeteries had always just seemed… darker.

At some point he'd gotten into the habit of running Led Zeppelin lyrics through his mind, trying to counter the uncomfortable feeling that he was being watched. Of course, a lot of those times, he _was_ being watched… be it by his father, or his brother, or the angry spirit in question, but cemeteries had always gotten under his skin… always made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Like now.

Dean sighed and focused on the tall, dark statue jutting majestically from the fountain. The moonlight shone down through the thin cloud cover, giving the statue an eerie glow, which didn't help the whole creepy graveyard scenario one bit. As he moved from one side of the fountain to the other, he could swear the eyes of the statue followed him.

Creepy times two.

"Hey." Sam's voice from directly behind him made him jump and he turned to see his brother grinning broadly. "What's the matter, Dean? You don't find the Dark Angel intriguing?"

Dean quickly recovered and returned his brother's grin, adding a raised eyebrow for effect. "Maybe the Jessica Alba version." His eyes glazed over as his thoughts wandered. "Hmmm. That Max, now she was one hot chick. Black leather, motorcycles…"

"Dean," Sam huffed, his momentary victory quickly erased by his brother's sick imagination. "Can you please focus on this angel?"

The older brother smiled as he turned back to the statue. "Well, this one's a little stiff for my tastes, but…" He shrugged and pulled the EMF meter from his jacket pocket. He held the little converted walkman out toward the statue as he walked back around the fountain. He could feel his brother following right on his heels and stopped abruptly, striking out with his elbow. "Dude, don't follow me so close."

"What?"

Dean frowned when his elbow met nothing but air and his brain determined his brother's response was not from behind him.

"What the –"

Dean turned, but the motion was abruptly stopped. The EMF began to emit a loud shriek as the hunter's body was tossed through the air by an unseen force.

"Dean!"

Sam rushed forward as his brother's body collided against the wrought iron gate. He watched in panic as Dean bounced off the gate and fell bonelessly to the ground, landing in an unmoving heap on the cold cement walkway.

As he approached the statue, Sam felt a pressure explode inside his head, almost like a voice, calling to him. He squeezed his eyes shut, bringing his hands up, shoving the heels of his palms into his temples. He turned, the intense pressure lessening as he faced the open bluff. Trying to keep his knees from buckling, he staggered toward the bluff, the pressure slowly receding with each step, replaced with a growing feeling of purpose. By the time he had made his way to the guardrail at the edge of the cliff, the pain was completely gone. Sam's attention was focused on the small boat approaching the shore below, and the beautiful golden haired woman standing at its bow.

……………………

Dean groaned, wondering why Sam let him drink so much when the kid knew he'd wake up with the hangover from hell. Rolling onto his back, Dean winced as his ribs protested the motion and his left hip chimed in its own protest.

Letting his arm fall to his side, his addled brain wondered why the mattress felt so hard and cold. His hand that rose to his aching head was met with small grainy pebbles and a warm wetness…

What the hell?

Opening his eyes, he was surprised to see the black iron bars of the wrought iron gate rising above him, framed by trees, swaying in the breeze. The clouds obscured the moon, a low glow of light finding its way through to illuminate the night.

Dean pushed himself up with a groan, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as the scene tilted momentarily. Fighting back the sudden feeling of nausea, Dean swallowed a few times until his stomach decided to keep its contents and his eyes were able to focus on his surroundings.

Wrought iron fence, headstones, fountain, angel…Sam!

Dean forced himself to his feet, breathing through the pain as the solo became a full fledged drumline. Squinting to focus through the darkness, his eyes finally came across the form of his brother, standing by the guardrail at the top of the cliff.

"Sam!" Dean coughed at the rough sound of his voice, raising a hand to wipe the slowly trickling blood from his eye. He lurched forward, his vision swimming in and out of focus as he tried again to call out to his brother. "Sammy!"

As he approached the top of the cliff, Dean could see that the younger man was on the opposite side of the rail, standing precariously close to the soft edge of the cliff. Sam's attention was apparently focused on something near the shore below. The wind was blowing stronger up there, Sam's hair and jacket whipping in the cold breeze.

"Sammy?" Dean leaned against the guardrail, blinking rapidly to try to clear the dark spots in his vision that he was pretty sure weren't part of the natural view. "Sammy, man, come on. You're getting pretty close to that edge, dude. You know how I hate heights."

The younger man's head turned slightly and Dean sucked in a breath as the soft moonlight reflected against the tears coursing down his brother's cheek.

"Come on, Sammy," his voice shook and he swallowed hard, not entirely sure what was going on in his brother's head. "It's okay man. You just need to step back."

"No, Dean." Sam's voice was soft and Dean winced at the sadness and resignation in the familiar tone. "That's a lie. It's not okay. Nothing is okay. I lost Mom, Dad, Jessica…" He turned and caught Dean's eyes, the sorrow in their depths breaking Dean's heart. "And now I'm gonna lose you, too."

Dean shook his head, unable to deny his brother's words. "Sammy, you'll be okay. You don't need –"

"Don't!" The force of his brother's shout dislodged some of the soft earth under his feet at the edge of the cliff and Dean held his breath at Sam's precarious balance as he turned to face him. "Don't you dare say I don't need you, Dean. I can't face – all this – alone. I can't do this without you."

"Yes, you can."

Sam shook his head slowly and turned back toward the open expanse. "No. I can't."

Dean quietly pushed himself over the guardrail. He had no idea why Sam was suddenly so despondent, and frankly, he didn't really care. Sam had been the one fighting tooth and nail to find a way out of the deal. Whatever was controlling him was making him believe there was no hope, but there was no way Dean was going to let this damn thing take his brother. He'd already given his life once to save Sam. He had no problem doing it again.

"Sam –"

"No, Dean!" Sam took a half step back as he turned toward Dean again, his right foot setting down in a tentative purchase on the crumbling soil. "You don't get it do you?"

Dean held out a hand as he took a small step forward. "Explain it to me, Sam. What don't I get?"

Sam laughed and shook his head again. "The only reason I made it at school was because I knew I had a safety net." He leaned forward and Dean tensed, ready to grab his brother as soon as he was in range. "You, Dean," Sam continued, his voice pleading for his brother to understand. "I always knew that if I needed you, no matter what, you'd be there."

"I'll always be there for you, Sammy."

"Not if you're in Hell, Dean," Sam whispered. "Not if you're dead."

Before Dean could even register the truth behind that statement, the soft edge of the cliff gave way and Sam's precarious position suddenly shifted. The younger man's eyes grew wide as he felt himself begin to topple over the edge, his arms flung out in an attempt to find some kind of balance.

Dean threw himself forward just as Sam's body began its decent. Landing hard against the edge of the bluff, Dean reached a desperate arm, wrapping his fingers around the course fibers of Sam's jacket. As the younger man's body stopped abruptly, Dean was pulled roughly forward, his ribs screaming in white-hot pain at the new abuse on his body.

"Dean!"

Sam's voice was pitched high with fear, but Dean was relieved that the empty sorrow was gone. "Sammy! Reach up and grab my arm!"

He felt his brother comply and gritting his jaw, pulled backward with all his strength. He screamed through clenched teeth as his ribs vehemently protested the action, tightening his grip on his brother's wrist. Sam's other arm snaked over the edge of the cliff and Dean quickly grabbed it, providing his brother an anchor as he twisted his body back up into the top of the cliff.

As soon as Sam rolled back against the guardrail, Dean allowed himself to slump to the ground, his arms wrapped tightly around his torso as his heart beat painfully against his chest. "You okay?" He squinted through the darkness, relieved to see the look of confusion and surprise on Sam's face.

"What the hell was that?" Sam asked breathlessly, his expression changing immediately to concern as he took in the blood on his brother's face.

Dean chuckled as he relaxed, allowing his battered body to give in the slowly creeping darkness. "Dude, we are so getting you a leash."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Hellllooooooo! I know ya'll are out there, I can hear ya breathing. Okay, maybe not, but I can see ya clicking on the counter. g Normally, I'd be a little sad with so little feedback (except from a few VERY enthusiastic reviewers – love you guys!!), but I like this story so much, nothing is gonna stop me from posting it. Nope. You heard me. Nothing. So don't even try to get me to stop. It would be an exercise in futility. Not gonna work. (**_grins wildly_)** You're just gonna have to muddle through somehow….**

……………………

**Chapter 4**

**Settle Inn Motel**

The first thing Dean noticed was that the cement seemed a lot softer this time. He also noticed that his head seemed to be pounding in time with his heart, which was beating somewhat painfully against his ribcage. Knowing from experience when waking up with these familiar sensations, it was a very good idea to remain as still as possible, Dean opted for simply cracking his eyes open and allowing them to slowly focus on the water stained ceiling of the motel room.

Huh. He could've sworn he'd been outside.

Moving his head carefully, Dean let his eyes drift, doing a slow sweep of the room. The heavy curtains were drawn, allowing a sliver of bright daylight through the small holes near the top. The room was dim, the only other light coming from the low wattage lamp on the table.

Dean adjusted his head into a comfortable position against the scratchy pillow and watched the familiar form slouched in the chair, one arm propped against the table, cradling a slack face in a hand. Sam's eyes were open, but the glazed look as he stared at the open laptop screen indicated that he really wasn't seeing much.

Dean cleared his throat, watching with a grin as Sam jump, his elbow slipping off the table and his head dropping forward, almost connecting with the raised computer screen. With a quick shake of his head, Sam focused his attention in the direction of the sound, his eyes crinkling as his lips turned up in a relieved grin.

"Hey, you're awake." He pushed himself away from the table and stretched before making his way across the small room to the opposite bed. Perching on the edge of the bed, Dean waited as Sam ran his eyes over his brother's form, assessing his condition before asking the obvious question. "How are you feeling?"

"Like something is forcing me to up my frequent flyer miles."

Sam snorted a laugh at the reply. "You should talk to your travel agent about getting that upgrade to first class, dude."

"Tell me about it." Now that Dean was more awake, he could feel the bruises along his back and side as well as a dull ache in his hip. His head was still leading the band, but the pounding was beginning to recede to a tolerable level and Dean decided to risk moving to a more comfortable position. A low groan escaped from his throat as he pushed himself up, nodding his thanks to Sam as the younger man leaned across and shoved two extra behind his back for support.

As Dean folded an arm across his aching chest, he noticed the ace bandage wrapped tightly around his torso and raised his eyes in question.

Sam shrugged his reply. "I don't think anything is broken, but better safe than sorry, right?"

Dean nodded and settled back against the pillows.

"The gash on your head stopped bleeding on its own so it didn't need stitches. And you've got a pretty deep bruise on your hip, but…" His voice trailed off and he shifted his gaze to his hands, one squeezing the other in nervous energy.

"Sam?"

The younger man took a deep breath, his eyes wandering around the room, skimming over everything except his brother. It was clear the younger man was trying to avoid talking about what had happened. And, although Dean was sure that most of his brother's anguish on the cliff had somehow been brought about by whatever this thing was, he was equally convinced that the fears were very real.

Sam had tried to hide his growing panic that he wouldn't be able to save him. Dean had been doing the same thing. Sam wanted Dean to fight. Dean wanted Sam to survive.

Unfortunately, these two needs seemed to be mutually exclusive.

"Sam?" Dean repeated, his own gaze locked onto Sam's face. He kept his voice level and soft, patiently waiting for the younger man to meet his eyes. After a few minutes, Sam glanced at his brother, immediately lowering his head as if ashamed.

"I'm sorry."

Dean pursed his lips and nodded. "Okay. For what?"

"I saw it."

"Saw what?"

Sam took a deep breath through his nose and released it before raising his head and meeting his brother's gaze. "The boat," he explained. "The angel. From Ruth Dodge's dream. I saw it."

"Last night?" Dean asked. It wasn't what he'd been expecting, but at least it was something they could deal with. "That's what you were looking at from the cliff?"

"Yeah," Sam lowered his head again. "I saw it in a dream… before."

Dean's eyes widened in surprise. "You don't think that's something you should maybe mention before we went back to the scene of the crime?"

Sam shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. "I thought it was a fluke, man. I'd spent hours researching Ruth Dodge and read about twenty accounts of that damn dream. And after seeing that statue, I just figured…"

"Okay," Dean waved a hand in understanding. "I get it, Geek. You figured your dork brain was free associating or something."

Sam chuckled. "Or something."

Dean shifted against the pillows and winced as a few more bruises made themselves known.

"What exactly did you see in this dream?'

Sam raised both hands as he tried to recall the vision. "I don't know… it was pretty much like I read in the articles. I was on this cliff, and there was a boat with a blonde woman in it. She was calling to me –"

"Wait, she spoke to you?"

Sam frowned as he forced himself to remember. "No. Not with words or anything, it was more like… she was inside my head or something. She was beckoning me to come to her…" he looked up, his hands held up in frustration. "That's it, dude. That's all I remember."

"And what about last night?"

Sam took another breath and closed his eyes as he tried to recall the events at the cemetery. "It's all pretty much a blank. I remember watching you get up close and personal with the fence, then… nothing." He opened his eyes and looked at Dean, frustration evident on his face. "The next thing I remember I was hanging off the edge of a cliff, you pulled me up then passed out." He shrugged. "I've been wracking my brain all night trying to remember something – anything – but I've got nothing."

Dean sighed and closed his eyes. If Sam didn't remember his little speech, Dean sure as hell wasn't about to remind him. He'd sidestep that little landmine without a moment's hesitation, thank you very much. He relaxed a bit, the thrumming in his head beginning to fade. "Why you?"

"Huh?"

"Why you?" Dean repeated. "We were both at the cemetery, both near the fountain… why you and not me?" A thought suddenly occurred to him and he opened his eyes, staring intently at Sam. "Think it could be because of your whole shining thing?"

Sam's lips turned down in a frown and he shook his head. "I doubt it. I haven't had a vision since we killed the demon. I think that whole psychic thing was tied to him."

Dean accepted the explanation and closed his eyes again. "Still, why you? The hot chicks usually go for me."

Sam snorted a laugh. "Except you aren't real fond of the water... that's it." Sam stood suddenly and moved back to the laptop.

Dean opened his eyes and followed his brother, waiting patiently for an explanation.

"It's the water." Sam turned toward the bed, his arms held out beside him punctuating his conclusion.

"The river?"

"No." Sam rushed back to the bed and plopped down on it, leaning forward toward his brother. "Not the river, the fountain. It's the water in the fountain."

Dean was shaking his head in confusion. "What about it?"

"The first time we were there, you went over to check out the cliff," Sam's voice was rushed as he tried to lead Dean through his explanation. "I went over to the fountain. Right before I called to you, a drop of water hit me."

"So what, Sam. It's a fountain. Fountain's splash," Dean said slowly as if speaking to a child.

"Fountain's splash from below, Dean. This drop hit me from above."

"From above?"

"Yeah. Like it came down from the angel's chalice itself."

Dean narrowed his eyes as his brain began to see where his brother was going. "So you think the water from the chalice is, what… cursing people?"

Sam nodded. "Cursing them, marking them, whatever you want to call it." He stood and began to pace as he began to piece some things together.

"What?" Dean asked, his eyes following the younger man's movements.

"In the dream, Ruth Dodge said the angel offered her the 'water of life.' She didn't die until after the third time, when she told her daughters she had accepted the drink. The angel in my dream was carrying an urn that was filled with water." He looked up sharply as a memory clarified in his mind. "She wanted me to drink it."

"Okay, so this thing uses the fountain to mark its victims, trying to make them drink from her urn and they what? Jump off the cliff?"

Sam nodded. "To get to the boat. They have to step off the cliff to get to the boat. The angel – or witch or whatever it is – has the urn with her on the boat."

"Okay," Dean was willing to go with it. It made sense. Besides, it was more of an explanation then they sometimes had. "So how do we stop her?"

"Break the urn." Sam's response was quick and sure, and Dean nodded in agreement. "We just need a way to draw her out without having to step off the cliff."

Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah. Not really up for that again." He tightened his arm across his chest as he let the situation trip around inside his brain. Remembering the feeling of being watched, the feeling of being followed, an idea formed. ""If you're right and the water from the fountain is what's 'cursing' the victims…" He shrugged and raised his eyes to his brother's. "We bless the water in the fountain."

Sam's face broke into a slow smile. If the water was blessed, maybe it would counteract the curse – destroy the witch's means of summoning her victims. "That might work. If nothing else it should piss her off."

Dean returned his bother's grin with a matching one of his own. "Kind of a Winchester specialty."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Fairview Cemetery**

Dean waited in the Impala, his head resting back against the cool leather. It had been decided – under protest – that Sam would be the one to find a way down and wait at the base of the bluff and make a run for the urn while Dean played bait, distracting the witch from above.

He grinned as the entire argument ran through his head.

"_Dean, that's a stupid idea."_

"_Sammy –"_

_You're already hurt. How long do you think you're gonna last against this thing?"_

"_Sam –"_

"_No, I'm not gonna let you –"_

"_SAM! I appreciate your concern, dude, but you're forgetting one thing."_

"_What?"_

"_You're the one who's been touched by an angel. Okay? You're the one who can see the thing."_

"_Oh, right."_

"_I'll keep it busy as long as I can, just… don't stop to smell the roses, dude."_

Sam hadn't been pleased, but had quickly admitted that Dean was right. Dean, on the other hand, was not particularly looking forward to playing hide and seek with a witch that he couldn't see, but he'd felt it behind him last time, and was banking on being able to somehow sense it again before it used him as a human Frisbee.

He sound of his cell phone brought him back to the present and he quickly flipped it open. "Yeah?"

"I'm set," Sam breathed into the phone. Obviously the descent to the bottom of the bluff had been a bit more strenuous than he'd anticipated. "You're up."

Dean nodded and pushed his door open. "Give me a few minutes and keep your eyes peeled. I don't think we're gonna get a second shot at this."

"Dean," Sam paused, the silence between them saying everything that needed to be said.

"Yeah, you, too." Dean flipped the phone shut, cutting the connection with his brother. He quickly made his way to the fountain, pulling a rosary and a well worn book from his pockets. Flipping the book open to the ear-marked page, Dean held the rosary above the pool of the fountain and began to recite the Latin ritual in a strong, clear voice.

……………………….

Sam huddled behind a rock near the base of the bluff, a few yards away from where he remembered seeing the boat approach before. He took a deep breath, trying to quell the uneasiness that was building in his gut.

His brother was in no shape for this. He was still in pain, Sam could deduce that from the way he'd squinted his eyes in the low light of the motel room. His ribs, while not broken, were also bothering him. Sam had noticed the diagonal marks from where the wrought iron struts from the fence had left impressions, causing his brother's torso to resemble a zebra's back more than a human's.

Of course, Dean had waved off any concern, stating he was fine in typical Winchester fashion. Sam had tried to convince his brother that they should wait, but Dean had wanted to get this over and done. He didn't want to risk the witch getting into anyone else's head, and Sam knew that Dean had meant he didn't want to risk the witch getting a second shot at Sam.

While he appreciated the concern, Sam truly wished that his brother would actually show some kind of concern for his own well being.

Just once.

Of course, he had to pick his battles.

Sam was slowly wearing Dean down on the whole 'saving him from hell' thing. So, even though he was wary of his wounded brother playing tag with an evil water witch for even the few seconds it would take him to destroy the chalice, he had to admit, If someone was gonna piss it off, Dean was the man for the job.

An eerie light out on the surface of the water caught his eye and he ducked down behind the rock, peeking around the edge as the boat came into view. His heart skipped a beat as the boat shimmered into view about ten yards from the shore… it was empty.

……………………….

As Dean uttered the final words of the ritual, he dropped the rosary into the fountain, not knowing exactly what to expect. As he took a step back on the cobblestone walkway, he felt a presence behind him.

Without waiting to establish who or what it was, he quickly dove to his right, rolling and bringing up the shotgun in one smooth movement. He quickly fired one barrel into the space where he'd been, cringing at the shriek that filled the quiet night air.

………………………….

As soon as the boat touched land, Sam scrambled from behind the rock, quickly running across the sandy ground toward the shoreline. He stopped abruptly as the report of a shotgun echoed, followed immediately by a shrill scream.

He couldn't stop the grin that broke across his face.

First point goes to Dean.

As he approached the boat, a form shimmered into view before him and he was brought up short of his goal as his heart lodged itself in his throat. He fell to his knees as the beautiful sight before him smiled, her arm stretched out gracefully toward him, her long blond curls flowing in the breeze.

Sam's mouth was dry and his voice was merely a whisper as he stared wide-eyed at the sight before him. "Jess?"

……………………………

Dean struggled to his feet, his head and ribs protesting the sudden acrobatics. Cracking open the shotgun, he blindly pulled the spend shell from the barrel and replaced it with a fresh cartridge.

He circled the fountain warily, his eyes and ears scanning the silence for any sign of the witch. As he completed his arc with no further incident, a gnawing concern began to work itself from the back of his brain.

"Come on, Sammy," he breathed, his eyes darting back and forth from the fountain to the edge of the bluff. He pulled his phone and hit the speed dial, waiting as the device rang. As soon as it went to his brother's voice mail, he snapped it shut and thrust it into his pocket. "No fucking way." He snapped the shotgun shut and took off at a dean run for the cliff.

……………………………….

Sam barely registered the ringing of his phone, but couldn't tear his eyes from Jessica's form to find it.

"Jess?" he breathed again, reaching his own arm out to her. "How…"

"Come with me, Sam," she smiled. The whites of her teeth were as blinding as the windswept folds of her flowing robe. Her golden curls danced in the breeze as her melodic voice mesmerized him.

He couldn't take his eyes off her, everything inside him wanting – no, needing – to touch her. He stretch his arm, feeling the warmth of her as their hands brushed against each other –

"Sammy!"

The loud report of the shotgun echoed in Sam's ears, and he instinctively threw himself to the ground, covering his head and sand kicked up around him. A shriek filled the air and Sam looked up as Jess's form shimmered, coalescing into the hideous form of the water witch. Her robe was gray and in tatters and her long white hair tangled in the wind. Her skull like face lifted to the air as she let out another wail.

A second shot rang out and the witch vanished.

"Sammy! Move!"

At the sound of Dean's voice, Sam shook himself out of his stupor and dove for the boat. He grabbed the urn that lay on the bottom, near the bow. The water flowed over his hands. The liquid was both warm and cold, giving off an almost electricity as it touched his skin.

Looking up, Sam saw the witch as it suddenly appeared on the top of the cliff behind Dean.

"Dean! Behind you!"

Sam could only watch as his brother turned and let loose with both barrels, the witch once again vanishing from sight.

With a quick glance to make sure Dean was okay, Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Focusing on the task at hand, he dashed back to the rocky area under the cliff and raised the urn, forcibly smashing it against the boulder. As the chalice disintegrated upon impact, a howl rose up from the river and a bolt of white lightning tore from the night sky. The lightning zig-zagged it's way through the darkness, seeking its target like a missile. As the bolt connected with the small boat, it exploded into a brilliant display, white fire mixing with the sizzling spray of the water and lighting the shade of the night.

Sam threw himself behind the boulder as the boat exploded, pieces of wood raining down along the shoreline, hissing against the damp sand. It was all over in less than a minute, the silence of the night returning. The sound of the water could once again be heard as it lapped against the shoreline as the trees rustled in the breeze.

"Sammy!"

Sam raised his head and glanced up at the cliff. Through the scant moonlight, he could make out the form of his brother leaning dangerously far over the edge of the bluff.

"I'm okay!" Sam yelled. "Get your ass back before you fall, you moron!"

Dean's relieved laughter echoed down to the shoreline. "You're welcome!"

………………………………

**Settle Inn Motel**

Sam stuffed the last of his clothes into the duffel and pulled it closed. He tossed it onto the bed, and turned toward the bathroom as his brother breezed through the doorway and crossed the room to the other bed

"All packed?" Dean asked, looking up from his own duffle briefly. They had returned to the motel after finishing off the water witch and both men had agreed that a good nights sleep would be a welcome reward for a job well done.

Sam nodded in answer to his brother's inquiry and sat down sideways on the edge of the bed, one leg pulled up in front of him. His thoughts strayed to the previous night and the vision of Jessica that had almost succeeded in luring him to his death. He was embarrassed that the witch had been able to reel him in so easily.

Dean hadn't commented on the witch's trickery and Sam couldn't help but wonder how his brother felt knowing how easy it had been to disrupt Sam's part of the plan. If it hadn't been for Dean shooting the witch from the cliff…

Sam's brow furrowed as another question formed in his mind.

Dean glanced over, confused at his brother's contemplative stare. "What?"

"How did you see her?"

Dean shook his head, not able to follow his brother's verbal acrobatics this early in the morning. "Huh? See who?"

"Je…" Sam's voice faltered on the name and he cleared his throat before continuing. "Um, the angel. The witch."

Dean shrugged and turned his attention back to his duffle. "I couldn't."

"Then how did you know where to shoot?"

The older man zipped the bag closed and ran a hand over his head. "You were reaching. I figured it was right in front of you, so…" He waved a hand instead of continuing, as if the answer was obvious.

"You guessed."

"No. I deducted."

Sam grinned. "You guessed."

Dean shrugged, returning the grin with one of his own. "Okay. I guessed. But it was an educated guess." Before Sam could argue, he held up a hand to stop him. "I hit it, didn't I?"

Sam sighed, and tilted his head in a gesture of acceptance. "You have got to be the luckiest shot in the world."

Dean grabbed his duffle and hoisted it over his shoulder, trying to hide a slight wince as his ribs protested the action. "Lucky for you." He patted Sam's shoulder as he passed him and headed toward the door. "Besides, even Winchesters deserve a little luck sometimes, dude."

Sam watched his brother open the door and make his way through without a look back. He sighed and grabbed his own bag, pushing himself up from the bed before turning to follow Dean through the door.

"Yeah," he breathed. "You do."

He just hoped they had a little bit left.

The End

_The Dark Angel is real. It sits near Fairview Cemetery in Council Bluffs, Iowa, which is counted as one of the most haunted places in the Midwest. The story of Ruth Anne Dodge's dream is also accurate and became the basis of this story. Of course, I don't think the Winchester boys have ever really been there, but a girl can dream. _

_Thanks so much for reading! Without you guys, there really isn't much point in this… although I do get a kick out of it myself, to be honest. g _

_Drop me a line and let me know what you thought!_


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